Shards of Malice
by Atrabelos
Summary: Never to breathe, never to see, never to hear, never to touch, never to taste, never to smell. In his final hours, Arceus looks back upon his past blunders and mistakes. One-shot, Arceus-centric


**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, Nintendo, or any related franchises. I do own this story and any characters that appear within. Do not attempt to use this story or the characters within without my permission, and do not attempt to make money off this story in any form.**

EDIT: This story is in no way, shape, or form related to The Black Fear. This is a completely separate storyline and is to be treated as such, for the curious.

Because sometimes all we need is a little more negativity in our lives.

In order to tide you over till the next chapter of my other story (in case you read it) I made this gem. It's Arceus-centric... and if you're into that sort of thing, the main pairing is Arceus-Existence.

But since I love you so much, there is none. Happy?

Nonetheless, it was a manner of split-second decision that I felt was necessary.

Enjoy your one-shot.

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**Shards of Malice**

In my long, long life... I had seen it all. I had been there when the universe was born, and had seen the infinite colors of eternity. I had been given the eye of gods, and had used it to the best of my ability. I treated my peoples with compassion and forgiveness, I gave them their world and the land they lived on, and I gave them life.

The world was not a modest one. I had meticulously carved out every aspect of it and then set up a fail-safe system to ensure that the sanctity of the utopia would not be disturbed. I gave life to Dialga, the ruler of time, and Palkia, ruler of space. To make the earth I created Rayquaza, ruler of the sky; Kyogre, ruler of the sea, and Groudon, ruler of the land. To bind the building blocks to creation together and to add personality and freedom to my lands I envisioned a trio of otherworldly fairies: Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf. I further distinguished those groups by adding a distinct form to all things: Regice, ruler of nonmetal substances; Regirock, ruler of metalloids; and Registeel, the supreme ruler of all metals. Binding those three together were Regigigas, who provided the base structure for existence: atoms. He was the ruler of matter.

Left to their own devices, they shaped children after themselves. This added form and substance to their existence, and it made them happy. I was joyous to see that the fruits of my labor had paid off. Then, wanting to add life to the otherwise barren areas, I created two groups: humans and Pokémon.

Pokémon were blessed with the abilities of the gods. They could do feats that no human could, and were counted on to sustain the peace of the earth. Humans were adaptable, resourceful, and cunning. They were the brains of society, keeping it running in spite of the odds.

The bond between the two beings continued to flourish over the ages. They mingled with each other, laughed with each other, played with each other, and did not mind each other's presence in the slightest. Once again, I was pleased that my work had turned this barren universe into a utopia. So overjoyed was I that when the mold began to spread, I did not realize it at first.

I was somewhat disturbed at the first turn of events. A fight began between two factions of humans and Pokémon. It was so long ago I have forgotten the details, but I do remember that I split the humans that started the conflict and stored them into an alternate dimension, while the humans that were benevolent to the Pokémon I rewarded and mediated the differences. In a matter of years all was well and life continued as usual. (I never did find out what happened to the humans I banished, by any chance.)

This next disaster, too, I could have stopped easily.

Within a few millenia of the previous conflict humanity's intelligence had far and wide surpassed the more primitive Pokémon technology. They had built cities towering up into the heavens, had carved rails to guide them across the plains of their planet, and had ascended into the heavens. At this time I did not suspect that there was a broken link: now I know that there was, indeed, at that time.

No longer did the humans play with Pokémon. Instead, surprisingly enough, they were viewed as inferior. They were accepted by human culture: indeed, they played a pivotal role: but they were no longer equal. The Pokémon wished to battle, and I tolerated that. If I had known that the Pokémon Trainers – as they were called – directly ordered their "pets" around then I would have objected. As it were, brotherly love became replaced with paternal love... but was there any love at all at that point? I do not know.

As far as I could tell nothing had changed. The world was still lively, the cosmos still resonated with the proper sounds, and the stars were aligned correctly. In my mind, everything was as it should have been, should be. Looking back at this moment, if I had seen past the facade and saw the situation as it truly was perhaps I could have avoided the apocalypse to come.

Somewhere an argument broke out between a human and "his" Pokémon. That argument destroyed the home and life of another, at which point the Pokémon's mother, blinded by rage, struck out at a neighboring city, and reduced it to ash and rubble. A hunt for the perpetrator of the disaster was staged by the humans, who then captured, rounded up, and systematically eliminated all potential suspects. This was done on a small enough scale that I did not pinpoint it at first: though I knew something was awry, I could not tell what.

War came when the violence continued. The masses, needing a scapegoat, turned their attention towards other nations, and countless lives were needlessly slaughtered. At this time I was aware: though I tried to stop the confrontation, my efforts proved fruitless. The massacre continued.

Even while this event continued, forces beyond my control were stirring. Negative emotions resonating from the crowd began to form into a single idea, enforced by blood and murder. That being – the antithesis of everything I stood for – became the being known as Giratina, in human speech. Long since has anyone known what it represented, even myself – to the best of my knowledge, it was named after a guillotine, a ruthless, painless killing device.

Thus began the recent past.

Giratina quickly became a deific force in the minds of many. Imposing its beliefs on society in a way I never dared, he – it quickly rose through the ranks of the pantheons before challenging even myself for supreme ruler of the lands. Through all this the war continued, and Giratina's power – the power of nonexistence – swelled. I, the supposedly immortal, eternal Arceus, lost my reserves of energy little by little.

At one point I confronted Giratina, asking that it go to whence he came and bother my people no more. He – it – replied that it was not bothering my children – they even seemed to like him. Looking down, I could finally understand the wisdom I was lacking. It was then – and there – that I became fully aware of the situation and what must be done to fix it.

Descending upon the earth from space in the first time in about a thousand years, I implored the people to stop the violence and become as brothers again. My words fell on deaf ears – the people, pretending they did not hear – or perhaps they actually did not – continued to stain the lands red with blood. I tried to influence the minds of the most capable leaders, and they were blind. They did not see me, either. As much as I tried, I could not convince the people to cease the carnage.

I retreated to outer space once more, and declared a meeting for the Original Ones – the original group of Pokémon that I had directly given life to – and counseled them on the direness of the situation. When they arrived, I found most of them ill or even in mortal danger of death. Groudon appeared a sickly yellow in color; Kyogre's skin was dyed a deep purple; Rayquaza was black with ash, soot, and carbon; and Regigigas was maimed beyond recognition, riddled a deep blue color with signs of craters and explosions where his body had once been. The rulers of the time-space continuity were also showing signs of wear: Dialga had paled from a bright blue to a strange green, while Palkia had reddened with the warping dimensions.

The bond we shared with the elements was awesome in scale: I felt that with the cosmos being undeniably linked to a few select entities, I could ensure the continuation of this world. This "fail-safe method" not only failed horribly, but also proved to be my very undoing.

Within a scant few months of my meeting cataclysm rocked the earth. The lands were sundered apart by earthquakes, the sky tore apart with vicious winds, and the seas broiled with unending rage. Time and space became unbalanced, creating strange portals after stars collapsed and sending numerous people into different eras. At this time I fell victim to a grave illness, and my followers – starting with the youngest, most fragile – began to die off one by one. Even Giratina was stricken by the affliction: as the people's rage turned into a fear of anything and everything, he lost power and a newer being interested not in deific manners but instead in self-preservation by striking fear into the hearts of as many as possible called Darkrai emerged. He proved to be no challenge to my authority, as he did not even acknowledge any other legends than himself.

Indeed: Giratina and I vied for power and control of the people to try to set them on what we believed to be the right track. In our weakness, we could only reach out to the minds of a select few and give them visions of what to do. We both were hopeful that we had had some effect on our followers: in fact, we did nothing.

In their fear, the masses did nothing despite the visions we had given them. They continued to cower amongst each other as disasters rocked the world left and right, sundering their every hope of survival.

A month passed, and then a year, and then a century. The humans and Pokémon clung to every chance of survival they could gain: a scrap here, and they would run to it. They were no longer interested in happiness or prosperity, just simply making it to see the next sunrise.

It served them well until an earthquake split the last major remaining stronghold of human sanctity in two.

The event is blurry in my memory and is too painful to recall; I shall not go to the details.

After the cataclysm, Giratina, Darkrai, and Groudon perished to sickness – Giratina because there was no people left in the world to garner negativity from, Darkrai for similar reasons, and Groudon because the land had been too badly marred beyond repair.

It has long bothered me why the world was left in such a sorry state, and now I believe I can say for certain. The humans, having overstepped their boundaries, became a little too careless with their affairs and splurged. They created industries that I can only begin to fathom: Pokéballs, potions, heavy machinery for gyms, giant towers, battling areas, tourist locations on mountains, machines to exploit volcanoes, chains to manipulate the Original Ones, and labs to genetically engineer their own obedient Pokémon. Through all this the land became scarred, and that led to the apocalypse.

Now, I am in my final days. All of my children are dead: the atomic beings, the physical shapers, and the pixies, along with all their kin, are laid to rest. The gods of time and space, too, have passed away. I am the only one left: when I die, there will be nobody left to mourn for my passing. Nobody left to marvel at the wonders I have brought to this world. Nobody left to recall better days. Nobody left to berate my job at handling this world.

At this moment I look back and see the lights of eternity. The endless possibilities, all filtering down, whittling away, breaking apart, until only one path remains – the path that I took. The splendor of the universe is grayed now – only a faint sliver of light remains. The stars no longer shine: they have been dulled. And the earth, the utopia I once called my greatest achievement is nothing more than a brown rock, floating into a star slowly growing to consume it and then, presumably, explode.

A thought crosses my mind, the first I had ever thought of it before: perhaps nothing is made to last, not even a god.

I take my final breaths, and then die.

Never to breathe, never to see, never to hear, never to touch, never to taste, never to smell.

Never to live.

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Review or not, it's up to you.

Hmph.


End file.
